


Overwhelming

by ElsaFH (Elsa0806)



Series: AtsuHina Week 2020 [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Alternate universe - Mafia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, AtsuHina Week, AtsuHina Week 2020, Blood, Bodyguard Atsumu, Fluff, Future Mafia Boss Hinata, Guns, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Violence, kind of, mafia!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24584443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsa0806/pseuds/ElsaFH
Summary: AtsuHina Week, Day 1: Crime AU.The moment Atsumu realized he’d fallen in love with Shouyou was the moment he went from “’Tsumu” to “Atsumu-san”. Not only the way he called him changed;hechanged as well. Shouyou just had that much power over him.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Series: AtsuHina Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777000
Comments: 25
Kudos: 223





	Overwhelming

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello there! This is Eli with my first contribution for the AtsuHina Week! Yaaay!
> 
> I know we’re all chill here and I don’t need to clarify this, but I’ll do it nonetheless because there’s no such thing as “being too careful”: the relationship portrayed in this one-shot is toxic, manipulative, and flat out _wrong_. There’s a seven-year gap between Shouyou and Atsumu. _Please_ bear in mind the world this story is set: this is a Mafia!AU. We can’t go around applying morals to this sort of stories.
> 
> I don’t believe I have to say this either, but I do not, I repeat, I DO NOT, under any circumstance, approve of this kind of relationships in real life. So yep.
> 
> That said I hope you guys like it! I had a great time writing this so I hope you have a great time reading it as well!
> 
> Also, a big shoutout to my roleplay partner! This idea is half hers and half mine so huge kudos to Ella for putting up with me and my Shouyou-centric-ass! I love you a lot!

“Come on in. The Lady wants to see you both.”

Atsumu and Osamu stare at each other for a second. Atsumu catches a glimpse of wariness moving furtively behind his twin’s eyes like some sort of warning: _be careful_ , the glint of his irises says. He already knows he has to be careful, it isn’t necessary for Osamu to look at him like that; it doesn’t really matter if the Lady loves them both, she’s still the Boss’ wife. She still has power over them, over the _lives_ of both of them, and they know that will never change. Lady Hinata owns them as much as Hinata-sama does, and the fact that they see him as a father figure doesn’t really matter.

They are theirs; the Hinata family has their lives in their hands, has them dancing on the lines of their palms like dolls in a music box, turning with every order, jumping whenever their owners felt like it, and stopping with a single order.

The guard, dressed in black from head to toe, gives the woman kneeling at his side a curt nod of his head. She bows slightly and drags her knees over the floor, sliding the paper door open over the rail, revealing the Boss’ bedroom.

It smells like blood, the coppery scent suffocating Atsumu while he and his twin step into the broad room, its walls delicately decorated with classical Japanese art painted by hand, the tatami of the floor a soft green that clashes against the blood-stained sheets underneath the small and fragile woman lying in the middle of the bed. Her breathing is ragged as if she’d been running a marathon and a pang of worry claws at the boy’s heart; the Lady doesn’t look like she always does. The glow of her skin is nowhere to be seen and the sheet that covers the lower part of her trembling body sticks to her in translucent spots that Atsumu assumes are due to the sweat.

“Ah,” she sighs, grinning. It feels weird to see her so pale, so crestfallen. Atsumu is used to her cheery personality, to the feeling of her carrying sunlight wherever she went. His brother and he close the gap between them and the bed, standing a few respectful steps away from her. “Atsumu-kun, Osamu-kun.”

“My Lady,” they both say at the same time, bowing respectfully.

“There’s no need to do that,” she says, shaking her head. It’s only then that Atsumu notices the bundle of white sheets between her arms and he almost lets out a _meep_ when it stirs, the Lady’s eyes falling on it with adoration. Her small hands hold it closer to her, pressing it against her chest. She slides her fingers over the hem, pushing it aside to reveal a round head underneath, the scalp covered in orange hair that looks very much like the fluff of a peach. “Here,” she keeps on, leaning forward, uncovering the ball in her arms to reveal the small body of a new-born baby, “this is Shouyou.”

Atsumu looks at him, his mouth falling open in awe. So _that_ was what she had inside her belly. For nine months, the entire staff, the guards, and even Hinata-sama had been fussing over her, losing their minds trying to comply with every single one of her needs and requests. She never went on her own anywhere but ever since “the big news” that had brought mayhem to the mansion, the amount of bodyguards that followed everywhere had doubled in number. The Boss even seemed reluctant about letting the twins get too close to her, something that had never happened in the four years they’ve lived in the Hinata household.

The first born of the Hinata family is small, smaller than any human Atsumu has ever seen. His face is covered with something that looks like the dry fat on the surface of pork broth and his eyes are pressed closed. Looking at him like that, he makes Atsumu think of a cabbage.

“Lady Hinata,” Osamu says, startling Atsumu, “congratulations on your first born. We are both really glad he’s healthy.”

“Oh, Osamu-kun,” she laughs, reaching out with the hand that isn’t holding little Shouyou between her arms. Her fingers cradle through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead before she flicks him softly in between his eyebrows. “You don’t need to be so formal. I’m too tired for etiquette.”

“I can’t—”

“Atsumu-kun,” she interrupts him, Osamu swallowing his words the moment she opens her mouth to speak again, “do you wanna hold him?”

“M-Me?” he blurts out, choking on the words. He’s never carried a baby in his arms before. He hasn’t had any contact with a baby since he _stopped being one_ and the fear of doing something stupid with him, or ever worse, _hurting him_ , drains the colour of his face. “Lady Hinata, I don’t think…”

“Ah, don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”

Carefully, as if she’d been holding the most precious thing to ever exist, she wriggles a little to adjust her sitting position on the bed. With the utmost care, the arms that hug little Shouyou close to her hear reach out, putting the small bundle of sheets close enough for Atsumu to move his hands, enveloping him in his arms.

He’s heavier than he’d thought, and a wave of panic crashes against him. Out of pure instinct he presses Shouyou against his chest, trying to not put too much strength into the motion so as to not crush him.

Warmth covers his skin, crackling through his nerves, sending his heart to a race against the inside of his ribcage. Little Shouyou moves between his grasp turning until he’s facing upwards. His tiny hands lay relaxed over his chest, covered with a soft, yellow onesie that seems a few sizes too big for him. Atsumu lets out a marvelled gasp, a blush of pure bliss dusting over his cheeks.

That little human, breathing slowly and softly against his chest, carefully held in his arms, is the reason he and Osamu exist. They both knew since the beginning, since they were old enough, that their life mission was to protect the children of the Hinata family, and although he’d heard those words over a million times throughout his life, he now can see them taking shape right in front of his eyes. Their reason to exist, the only reason they have to even set foot on the Hinata household, sleeps peacefully in his grasp.

It feels almost surreal. Little Shouyou, with two suns in his name, with a bright orange hair that doesn’t look that much like hair but more like the fluff of a peach, had come to this world not even hours ago. He hadn’t even opened his eyes to the wonders and terrors of the existence around him, but he gives his and his twin’s life meaning.

Atsumu’s eyes avert from Shouyou, falling on Lady Hinata once again.

“He’s so small,” he whispers in awe.

“He is,” she conveys, nodding with a tired smile. “Hinata Shouyou,” the Lady sighs. She blinks away the tears that well up in her eyes, her face radiating a glow that Atsumu’s never seen in her, “the first born of the Hinata family.”

 _The only reason I have to exist_ , Atsumu thinks, daring to let his fingers caress the soft orange fluff on top of little Shouyou’s head. The baby stirs underneath his touch, something akin to a smile curving his lips. _I will protect you with my life, Shouyou-sama._

* * *

Atsumu spits the blood that pools in his mouth. The inside of his cheek is completely busted, and the feeling against the tip of his tongue makes him think of an open rose. His throat hurts and there are a few nasty cuts along the length of his arms, along with even nastier bruises that dust his skin with purple, green, and yellow from yesterday’s training session. The red, swollen spots (marked with the shape of his sensei’s instep) over them announce new bruises that will hurt like a bitch in the morning. His lip is split and a thin thread of blood slides down from his right temple, tapping against the floor of the dojo while he lies against the cold wood, reconsidering his life choices.

“Get up, Atsumu,” his sensei barks, his low voice bouncing against the wooden walls of the broad room. Atsumu’s eyes close for a second, looking for the willpower to obey and not stay there while looking like a puppet whose strings have been cut off. “You think someone as weak as you, who can’t even _hold himself upright_ , can protect Shouyou-sama?”

Atsumu knows his sensei’s words only want to ignite the spark within him, that one that’d would renew his energies so he can stand up from the tatami and take a fighting stance. He knows he only wants to make him better, undefeatable, so no one can ever lay a finger on his master. But that _stings_ because it seems to call out to his deepest fears.

_What if ‘m not strong enough ta protect him? What if ‘m as weak as he says I am?_

His only worth in life is to trade it for Shouyou’s. His only purpose is to protect him, to serve him once he’s officially assigned as his personal bodyguard. His life goal is to dedicate his body, mind, and heart to him once he ascends and sits on the throne that only the Boss can occupy. He _knows_ that. He has it engraved in every single one of the cells that form his bones, his flesh, and his skin. There’s no doubt as to how much he wants to serve his master as he’s supposed to, but he’s only human. He has a limit, and by the way his arms tremble underneath the weight of his body when he tries to get up, he’s reached it for today.

“Fuckin’ weak. Get out of my dojo, Atsumu.”

Atsumu wonders how his sensei expects him to stand when his arms can’t even raise him two inches from the ground. A single look to his sensei’s disgusted expression is enough for him to understand that the meanings he uses to get out of there aren’t his problem.

But Miya Atsumu has a sense of pride that can’t be tamed, and even if it kills him he’s getting on his feet and getting out of there _walking_. So he pushes, cursing his entire bloodline until he’s finally standing on his feet, his knees trembling underneath the weight of his body. He can’t feel his legs and when he tries to straighten his back the pain that explodes on the right side of his chest, close to the pit of his stomach, lets him know he has a mauled rib.

“It’s for today, Atsumu. Get out.”

“Yes, sensei.”

He tries not to sound like an annoyed brat but the look on his sensei’s eyes tells him he didn’t manage to sound respectful. It’s better for him to flee now that the man seems to be in a merciful mood.

With a last glimpse to his brother, sitting in the traditional kneeled way of the martial arts, he slides the paper doors open and steps out of the dojo, letting go the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Every day, for the last seven years, he and his brother had been training daily without rest to sharpen their abilities. To serve the Boss and his offspring, every guard has to be an expert in hand to hand combat, fire guns, and traditional blades. The ways of the Hinata family, those of the Yakuza tradition, are merciless and cruel; they only show piety to the children, something he and Osamu had stopped being, according to the Boss’ decision, when they turned eight. That had happened a few months after Shouyou’s birth, and although he misses his carefree life, he knows it’s for the greater good.

That greater good is, of course, Shouyou’s protection.

That’s basically what keeps him going; the fact that he and his brother are meant to protect him. It isn’t just a thing of having to do so; it’s also a thing of _wanting_ to do it. Shouyou’s such a sweet kid, so kind sometimes Atsumu doubts he’s suitable for the position he was born to occupy. It’s saddening to know that someday his kindness will disappear once his father passes away and he has to sit on the Boss’ chair.

Atsumu refrains from spitting the blood that pools in his mouth. His busted cheek and lip are bleeding once again and he cringes while he makes himself ignore the nausea to be able to swallow. He needs to get to the closest bathroom as soon as possible and do… _something_ about all his wounds. He can’t go around the house looking like that and he definitely can’t assist to the particular classes once his brother’s done being his sensei’s punching bag.

“’Tsumu?”

Atsumu jumps on his spot, startled. A snarl leaves his lips while he turns on his heels, frantic eyes searching for the source of the sound. His heart is beating painfully against his ribcage and the blood that had started to pool in his mouth seems to have no flavour while he pushes it to the back of his throat.

He takes a sharp inhale, his hands tightening into fists at each side of his body; the fact that someone had managed to sneak up on him is _terribly_ shameful and disappointing. He’s supposed to be the perfect bodyguard and nothing’s supposed to pass through his senses—

His eyes fall on the small frame a few feet away from him, fluffy orange hair bouncing when the owner of that soft voice stops to look at him. He has a popsicle on his right hand and his amber irises are fixed on him, worry and fear contorting the features of his childish face.

Atsumu’s muscles relax with each beating of his heart once his brain registers the image of his young master standing in the middle of the hallway. Shouyou’s still as small as always and he looks even tinier under the poor lighting of the hallway that leads to the family dojo. He isn’t even supposed to be there; the east wing of the Hinata manor is forbidden for him and it will be forbidden for every child that could come. That’s a place where pain and blood are usual and even though the Boss is cruel and merciless, he still protects his son from everything that goes down behind the peaceful appearance the Hinata family puts on for the rest of the world.

“Bocchan,” he sighs, relaxing his fists. A smile spreads on his face, the split lip opening a little under the tension with tiny lightning bolts exploding through his nerves. “You shouldn’t be here… are you alone?”

The first born of the Hinata family frowns. He paddles over the floor, stopping right in front of Atsumu before lifting his hand and signalling him to crouch.

Atsumu does as ordered, crouching in before him with a smile that doesn’t show the pain that throbs in his bruised ribs, or the one that feels like a knife going through the skin right underneath his left shoulder blade.

“What happened to you?” Shouyou asks, ignoring his question olympically. Atsumu sighs, a sound the whistles in his dry throat. His tiny hand, suspended in the air, hovers over his split lip and the cut on his temple, barely touching the wounds with the tip of his fingers. “Are you okay, ‘Tsumu?”

“Ah, this?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s nothing. You don’t need to worry, bocchan. I’ll be as good as new in t—”

A scream cuts him off. Atsumu grimaces, recognizing immediately the voice that bounces on the walls of the hallway, barely muffled by the thin paper doors of the dojo. He can hear the hits nailing his brother and he can only imagine what he’ll look like once he steps out of their sensei’s class.

The colour drains from Shouyou’s face, his big amber eyes fixed on the doors. The protective instinct inside of Atsumu kicks in too late and when he finally manages to straighten his back, Shouyou has already started to walk towards the dojo.

“’Samu?” he whispers. His voice trembles, tears welling up in his eyes right when Atsumu’s hand squishes his shoulder to get his attention.

“Bocchan,” he begins, smiling as if nothing’s happening. The tension prickling in the muscles of his back isn’t _nothing,_ however, but he gives his best to build a façade that won’t worry his young master more than he already is. “You shouldn’t be here. Let’s find Lady Hinata, what do you think?”

“But ‘Samu…”

“He’ll be okay,” Atsumu assures, reaching out with his free hand, waiting for his young master to take it so he can drag him out of there and out of his brother’s screams’ reach. “He’s my brother, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but…”

“Do you trust me?”

Shouyou presses his lips into a thin line, the skin losing its colour until it turns white, a yellowish hue replacing the pink.

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you trust ‘Samu?”

The boy sighs, taking Atsumu’s hand with a defeated expression. The fire behind his eyes tells Atsumu he wants to argue, probably even throw a tantrum until he can make sure nothing’s going to happen to Osamu. The protectiveness Shouyou had developed towards the twins over the years never ceased to amaze him; it isn’t usual for the next Boss to have such deep bonds with the ones that are supposed to protect him. He’s probably gonna be mocked if the other Bosses know about how he doesn’t see his bodyguards as disposable shields.

The thought makes Atsumu’s blood boil. He understands the world they move through, understands its antics. But he’ll never understand the reasons as to why kindness towards their own allies is so looked down upon.

“Yes, I trust him.”

“Then you already know he’s gonna be okay.”

Shouyou pouts. His shoulders sag under the weight of his defeat and Atsumu squishes his hand softly, a fond gesture that makes his young master smile a little.

“Come on,” he says, starting to walk. “Let’s get out of here and find your mother.”

The small footsteps of Shouyou barely echo through the hallway while Atsumu guides him out of the forbidden wing. The boy is unusually quiet, his tiny hand squishing his while his eyes only look ahead like he can’t stare Atsumu in the face. It’s weird for Shouyou to be so silent, to look so crestfallen and uncomfortable.

Atsumu wonders whose head would be served on a silver plate to the Boss if he ever finds out about Shouyou wandering all on his own through the mansion. He doesn’t want to be the reason behind someone’s death due to disobeyed orders but he knows he has to let the security team know. The fact that Shouyou had managed to sneak up on the dozens of guards stacked in the most improbable corners of the manor is a _really worrying_ problem the Boss would like to get rid of as soon as possible.

“I don’t wanna go with mom,” Shouyou says suddenly. Atsumu hears the pout before seeing it, the gesture pursing his lower lip. “She called the teacher… I don’t wanna have classes today, ‘Tsumu.”

“Oh, but you have to,” he chuckles. Shouyou’s eyes are finally on him, the tiniest of frowns deepening in the middle of his brows. “We all have to go to school, bocchan. You can’t keep running away like this everytime you have to go to class.”

“But it’s _History_ ,” the boy complains in a whine. “I don’t know how to read half the names on the book…”

Atsumu makes his best to not giggle but fails miserably. The only person he feels comfortable enough with to make a sound like that is currently staring at him in disbelief, looking so betrayed he can’t help the burst of laughter that bubbles up in his chest.

“Tell you what,” he proposes, turning on the corner that will finally lead them to the part of the house Shouyou’s allowed to wander around. “I’ll go clean up and then I’ll go help you with your book before your teacher arrives. What do you think?”

Shouyou pouts.

 _Uh oh. Here comes the counteroffer_.

“I have a better idea!” he chirps, his smile going from ear to ear. The mischievous glint of his eyes couldn’t be ignored even if he tried, and the fact that he doesn’t look so pale anymore makes Atsumu exhale the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I wait while you clean up, and then we go to the garden to play! It’s been _ages_ since you’ve played with me, ‘Tsumu. It’s _unfair_.”

Atsumu ponders his options. If he got to his own classes late, he’ll get his ass beaten. He’ll also get his ass beaten if his young master doesn’t show up for his History class. Basically, he’ll get his ass beaten _twice_ as hard.

But the look on Shouyou’s eyes is hard to ignore and even harder to say no to. He knows it’s a bad idea to spoil him like this, to give him everything he asks for whenever he asks. But it’s almost impossible to deny him anything.

“Bocchan,” he sighs, defeated. His duties come first, it doesn’t really matter how much he wants to give in and spend the rest of the day with his young master. “I can’t. Your father would kill me if he knew you missed your class because you were playing with me—”

“’Tsumu,” Shouyou interrupts. Atsumu’s words die on his tongue, sour and useless. “Aren’t you supposed to follow my orders?”

“Yes, I am. But—”

“Then you can just tell them I made you do it!” he keeps on as if Atsumu hadn’t tried to speak at all. “The worst that can happen is that I get grounded!”

Atsumu stops at the end of the hallway, the board room in front of them basking softly on the sunlight that seeps through the open doors that lead to the garden. He can hear the birds singing, the murmurs of the rivulet falling into the bamboo that hits a rock constantly, the tails of the carps splashing in the water of the pond joining the symphony out there now and then, and the whisper of the wind going through the leaves of the bushes and trees.

“ _Fine_ ,” he gives in, sighing in defeat. He’s _so_ gonna regret this later. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a few.”

“Okay!” Shouyou giggles, letting go of his hand. The way his eyes glimmer under the sunlight that seems to set aflame the tips of his orange hair makes Atsumu’s chest swell with affection; he wouldn’t mind dying for this kid. He deserves that and even more. “Hurry!”

“Okay, okay. I’ll hurry.”

* * *

“Nah, I don’t think my mother gives me permission.”

Shouyou’s voice is merely above a whisper, but Atsumu’s ears catch the shape of the words nonetheless. It’s hard not to do it when his entire existence is designed and shaped to catch up to every single one of his young master’s motions. It isn’t like Shouyou’s trying to hide his phone call either: he isn’t doing anything bad after all. It’s just a seventeen-year-old kid making plans with his friends.

But it still irks him.

Atsumu hates the idea of Shouyou mixing up with those kids. They don’t know, they have _no idea_ of who he is. They touch him, hug him, and ruffle his hair without permission. They clap him on the shoulder, carry him around in piggyback rides that make his master giggle. And he _allows it_. Atsumu can’t really wrap his mind around the idea of someone treating his master like he’s nothing but a teenager. Hinata Shouyou is seventeen, has friends and a healthy, normal life but he _isn’t_ normal. And he knows it.

“Atsumu-san?”

Atsumu grits his teeth. He hates the honorific as much as he hates the idea of Shouyou spending time with his school friends.

He turns on his heels and opens the door to his room. Everytime he does that he can’t help but remember the last time he’d set foot on Shouyou’s bedroom, three years ago. Shouyou was fourteen and had smiled up at him like he always did, but the way his chest clenched and tensed up wasn’t the usual reaction. When Shouyou had asked what was wrong, panic fluttering behind his amber irises with his right hand reaching out to him to touch Atsumu’s face like he always did, he realized what’d happened with a pang of disgust.

The last time he’d set foot on Shouyou’s room was the moment he realized he’d fallen in love with his young master. It was also the moment when “’Tsumu” became “Atsumu-san”, and the distance between them started to be unbearable and impassable. It feels as if they existed in different realities, and Atsumu understands the reason behind it; he was never meant to have such a close relationship with his future owner in the first place.

“Shouyou-sama.”

“It’s not nice to listen to other people’s phone calls,” he informs, softly. The kindness to his voice is overly sweet and it leaves a saccharin-like taste coating Atsumu’s taste buds. It’s the tone he always uses to talk to him, marking the distance between them with every word punctuated by a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I thought I’d asked you to stop doing it last time we spoke.”

Atsumu clears his throat. He refrains from mentioning that last time had been weeks ago.

“I’m sorry, Shouyou-sama, but you know I can’t leave you alone. That means I _will_ have to listen to your phone calls.”

“Mhm,” Shouyou hums, placing his phone with the screen down on top of his desk. The laptop in front of him is open and it shows his Facebook page, the notifications piling up on the top left of the tab. Atsumu frowns. “That’s other the thing— you don’t need to follow me around the mansion. There’re more guards here than I’d like… nothing’s gonna happen to me.”

The politeness of his voice, the overly sweet smile, the absent glimmer of fondness on his eyes. All of that makes Atsumu’s insides churn. He misses the boy he saw become the man he is now, misses the way he used to talk to him. It can’t be helped, however; he knows he’s guilty of that. It doesn’t really matter how much it hurts, it doesn’t really matter how much he wants to turn back time and go back to the moment he realized he’d fallen in love with him to fix the mistakes he’d made. It’s _Atsumu_ the one that put the distance between them, not Shouyou. He understands his reaction because he’s at fault for it: he can’t imagine how much Shouyou hurt after Atsumu decided he couldn’t maintain the relationship they had up until that moment.

Atsumu clears his throat once again and refrains from clenching his fists.

“I apologize, Shouyou-sama, but you know I can't accept that order.”

“Weird,” the boy sighs, shrugging. “I remember you telling me over and over again you lived to serve _me_.”

That stings. Atsumu grimaces, taking a step back.

“Is there anything else you need?” he asks, avoiding the weight of Shouyou’s gaze.

“Not really,” he says flatly. “I’ll go hang out in the pool for a bit. I don’t think you’d stay away even if I asked you to, am I right?”

“You’re correct.”

“Great.”

The way his voice drops and drags on the syllables of the word doesn’t match the meaning of it. It feels almost like an insult. Atsumu purses his lips and slides the door closed, letting out a shaky breath.

He’d been twenty one when he realized he was in love with Hinata Shouyou. He can barely believe it’s been three years since that crucial moment that threw everything into the metaphorical trashcan that is now his life. He yearns for the past but knows it’s something he can never gain back. He’s condemned to see the boy he loves fall for someone else, start a family with someone who isn’t Atsumu, and live happily ever after as out of his reach as he’s always been.

Deep inside of him, Atsumu sometimes wishes for a different life. One where he could’ve found a normal Shouyou, not the one who’s bound to be the Boss of a Yakuza family. Late at night, when no one can hear him, he fantasizes about holding Shouyou’s hand, about listening to his laughter. He longs for his smile, the genuine one, not the overly sweet he always puts on whenever he talks to him.

He knows he can’t have those things. Their relationship had worsened over the years and there where he used to find laughter, warmth, and comfort, now he can only find resentment, fake smiles, and stinging words that clash with Shouyou’s cheery personality. He doesn’t treat anyone else like he treats Atsumu, not even his father or his mother; he doesn’t love them but doesn’t hate them either. He respects his father and thanks his mother for having given birth to him and his sister, the only person Atsumu’s sure could make Shouyou get down on his knees.

But those cruel words, those fake smiles, are reserved only for Atsumu and Atsumu alone. It’s bittersweet, he thinks; even when Shouyou seems to hate him in that quiet way of his, Atsumu is still special to him.

The door slides open and Atsumu’s eyes find Shouyou’s naked upper half. A towel hangs from his left shoulder and the elastic band of his bathing suit rides low on his hips.

Atsumu’s mouth goes dry. He recognizes the hunger that burns in the pit of his stomach and through his nervous system; his yearning for Shouyou doesn’t stop with handholding and innocent forehead kisses. They’re _so much_ deeper and Atsumu can’t help but feel disgusted at himself.

Shouyou’s gaze is on his, his eyes boring holes into Atsumu’s skull. There’s something fluttering behind his irises, something so fleeting Atsumu can’t quite catch it. It’s gone before he can decipher it or even get a real glimpse of it, and the frustration that builds up in his chest is almost as big as the one he feels whenever lust and desire overflow his senses.

This frustration, however, is different. The way Shouyou looked at him, if only for a second, reminds him of that one time he found Atsumu outside the family dojo. His worry and fear, two emotions he’ll fight tooth and claw to keep away from his young master, had engraved themselves in Atsumu’s retinas. It’s hard to get rid of the image of his young master, so small he could barely reach his waist, looking at him like someone had hurt his most precious possession.

“Atsumu-san?”

“Ah,” he exhales, blinking in confusion. The lack of sarcasm or cruelty in his voice takes him by surprise. “I’m sorry, Shouyou-sama. Go ahead. I’ll right be behind you.”

Atsumu waits for a snarky reply, something that went along the lines of “of course. I can’t get rid of you”. But the words are never spoken and Atsumu’s left standing there, waiting for the sting of pain that never comes.

He follows Shouyou through the house until he reaches the hallway that leads to the tempered pool. Through the glass walls, Atsumu can see the deck chairs that line up along the length of the Olympic pool, the bubbles rising up from the filters interrupting the calm surface of the water. There’re climbing plants spreading through the room dividers that stand at the opposite side, hiding the furthest wall, and a delicate white round table with four matching chairs occupying the space right behind the door.

“Yamaguchi invited me to karaoke,” Shouyou says abruptly, tearing Atsumu out of his thoughts. From a few steps back, he blinks in bad conceited surprise. Shouyou doesn’t usually tell him about his plans with his friends because he knows beforehand Atsumu won’t approve of them. “You think ‘Samu will be too busy taking care of Nacchan to go with me?”

 _Oh_.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to ask my brother to go with you,” Atsumu answers after clearing his throat. Shouyou isn’t being subtle about wanting to get rid of him. It isn’t a secret that his relationship with his twin is still the same they had when the young master was only a child, and it hurts to hear him asking for Osamu to take care of him instead of Atsumu. “Natsu-sama is still getting used to his bodyguard. She’s only a kid after all.”

“Ah, she’ll be asleep when I go meet my friends,” the words are said lightly, as if they really don’t matter. Shouyou stands in front of the glass doors and pushes, the hinges slowly giving in to the motion until the door finishes opening up by itself. “She has ballet classes on Saturday mornings, right? She goes to sleep earlier on Friday.”

“What time are you supposed to meet your friends?”

Atsumu’s words come out in a growl, falling from his lips like poison. Shouyou stops dead in his tracks, the tension snapping through every muscle of his naked back.

He turns around, slowly, until he’s facing Atsumu from a few steps in front of him. There’s no expression on his features, not even the overly sweet one Atsumu hates so much. He looks empty, distant, and _cold_ in the middle of the summer.

“Nine o’clock,” he responds, flatly. “’Samu will be on his night watch by then.”

Shouyou turns on his heels, facing away from Atsumu. He crosses the threshold without even casting a glance at him, walking toward the closest deck chair to throw his towel on top of it. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and throws it over the towel, stretching his arms over his head before running to the pool and diving in.

Atsumu just looks. With each passing day he feels further and further away from Shouyou.

* * *

Shouyou is laughing, his fist hitting the table as if laughter isn’t enough to show the joy that fills his body and bubbles around him like sea foam. From afar, he looks like an angel. Dishevelled fluffy hair, his cheeks dusted with the pink of the blush caused by singing, laughing, and screaming. He looks so happy Atsumu can’t understand why he hates the people that surround him so much.

Scratch that. He understands. He doesn’t hate them, he’s _jealous_. Jealous that they make Shouyou laugh the way he used to, jealous that they are able to experience the joy of his laughter and his smile from Monday to Saturday. It feels like all of those kids had replaced Atsumu, as if he wasn’t worthy of being able to bring happiness into his life anymore.

“Ah, crap,” Shouyou says amidst his laughter. “Too much juice.”

“Aw, c’mon, Hinata,” one of his friends cringes. If Atsumu recalls correctly, the blond, tall one is Tsukishima. “We _don’t need_ to know that kind of stuff.”

“Don’t be like that, Tsukki,” a freckled guy laughs. _Yamaguchi, the one that invited him._ “It’s normal!”

“Yeah, but I really don’t wanna know.”

“You’re such a killjoy,” Shouyou giggles, sticking out his tongue at his friend. “Kageyama, move over. Gotta go to the bathroom.”

“Ask me nicely, you dumbass.”

“Could you _pleeease_ move over, Bakageyama-kun?”

“Does that sound nice to you?”

“Ask my bladder to be nicer, then. Move!”

Kageyama, a black-haired guy that looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, finally obeys and moves, leaving enough space for Shouyou to squeeze between him and the table so he can slide out of his seat and head to the bathroom.

Atsumu doesn’t like the way his cheeks flush when Shouyou passes right in front of him, closer to Kageyama than he’s been to Atsumu in three years.

He follows Shouyou suit, walking a few respectful steps behind. Shouyou doesn’t look at him while he navigates through the hallway and towards the men’s bathroom, a happy hum falling from his lips and occupying the spot between them.

Shouyou enters the bathroom, closing the door shut softly behind his back. Atsumu looks around, scanning the open area with seats aligned along the walls and a vending machine in one of the corners. It’s empty. Clear. _Safe_.

Or so he thinks until he hears Shouyou’s voice coming from inside the bathroom.

“Hey,” Atsumu hears. He sounds agitated, the tenseness of his voice very much like the string of a violin. “Back off.”

The sirens in Atsumu’s head go off with a screech that could’ve punctured his eardrums if it had been more than just the imaginary way his instincts have of kicking in. He launches forward, pushing the door open with his shoulder, his breath catching in his throat when the hard, cold light of the fluorescents over his head burns his retinas.

His eyes fall on the stranger that’s standing right in the limit of Shouyou’s personal space, his right hand gripping a short kitchen knife, and his entire vision fills with red.

“Atsumu-san,” Shouyou whispers fixing a panicked gaze on him. “Don’t.”

“Hinata-sama,” he starts. His voice sounds strangely calm in his own ears. “Could you please wait outside?”

There’s a silence that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. A quick glimpse towards Shouyou tells him everything he needs to know besides the fact that this stranger’s holding a knife: he doesn’t want to be close to the person that’s standing in front of him. The man in question, in his mid-thirties maybe, is looking at Atsumu with a disgusting smile on his face; he can almost smell the rancid smell of old tobacco coming from him, if the yellow-stained teeth Atsumu is able see behind his lips are a clue of his bad habits.

“Ooh, Hinata- _sama_?” he repeats, mockingly. He turns towards Shouyou, the smile on his face spreading while he finally invades his young master’s personal space. Shouyou lets out a soft _meep_ , taking a step backwards to stay away from the stranger. “Who’re you? Someone important?”

“Look, buddy,” Shouyou begins, swallowing. Atsumu’s hand moves slowly to the interior of his coat, his fingers grazing slightly the butt of the gun that presses against his chest, “you better leave. This isn’t a good idea.”

“Aw, are you scared of what I’ll do to your friend if he tries to defend you?” the man asks.

“What?” Shouyou whispers, blinking at him. The utter confusion in his amber eyes almost makes Atsumu chuckle. “The fuck? No,” he laughs, “I’m scared of what he might do to _you_.”

Atsumu pulls out the gun from the pocket of his coat, aiming it directly to the man’s head.

“Uhm,” the boy starts, gulping. “Mind to look behind you?”

The stranger doesn’t need to look behind him to see the gun pointing right at him; it only takes a quick glimpse to the mirrors that cover the entire wall at his left for him to realize Shouyou’s words aren’t a joke. The fear in his stare makes Atsumu’s blood sing, a pang of pleasure blooming in his chest and spreading quickly through his veins. The feeling makes all the hairs of his body stand on end, a rush of adrenaline injecting straight to his heart.

The knife rattles against the tiled floor when the man drops it and raises both hands with his palms towards Shouyou. Ever so slowly, the stranger turns on his heels, going pale in the blink of an eye.

“Hey, man,” he laughs, out of breath. “There’s no need to do that, y’know. I wasn’t gonna do anything to him.”

“Leave,” Shouyou orders. The power coming from his voice almost makes Atsumu put his gun down and nail his knee to the floor.

“I swear I wasn’t gonna do anything to him!”

Atsumu cocks the gun, the clicking of the mechanism feeling like broken glass rubbing against concrete in the deep silence of the bathroom.

“Ya heard him,” Atsumu spits, accent thickening amidst his anger. “ _Leave_. ‘Cause if ya don’t fuck off right _now,_ Imma tear ya apart limb by limb.”

One step forward has the man rushing out of the door like a bat fleeing from hell. The door slams against the frame when he throws it closed, the sound making Shouyou jump on his spot.

Time seems to stand still while Atsumu still holds the gun up, aiming at the place where the man’s head had been a few seconds ago. His heart hammers away in his chest, beating against the inside of his ribcage, filling his ears with the unpleasant whistle of the blood pressure rushing through his veins. He can feel the ragged breathing that rasps in his throat and he’s sure Shouyou can hear it, but he can’t hear it himself.

“Atsumu-san,” Shouyou coos, taking a few steps towards him. His voice sounds soft, like he’s talking to a wounded animal whose paw is trapped in a bear trap. “Please, put the gun down.”

“You,” he starts, without putting down his gun, “should’ve let me kill him.”

“What were you gonna do after killing him? Wait patiently for the police to arrive?”

“We could’ve had enough time ta run.”

“Put the goddamn gun down, ‘Tsumu, for fuck’s sake!”

Something clicks inside Atsumu’s head; it feels like a bone falling right back into its socket after getting dislocated. It hurts like it, too, because the fact that Shouyou uses his old nickname makes his heart ache in a way he’s never felt before. Slowly, he unloads the gun and returns it to the inside pocket of his coat, placing it carefully over his heart.

“Thank you,” Shouyou huffs, the tension of his shoulders loosening a little.

“Shouyou,” he begins, dropping the honorific. Amber eyes are on his, looking at him like he’s never seen him before, something flourishing behind the irises that shine with a glimmer Atsumu can’t quite recognize.

Shouyou gulps, taking a step backwards. His back hits the tiled wall with a soft _thump_ , a strangled sound catching on his throat.

“Y-Yes?”

“Why dja think I follow ya around _all the time_?” Atsumu asks, straightening his back. He pulls at the lapels of his coat, accommodating the fabric over his black button-up shirt.

“To protect me,” Shouyou answers. The confusion in his voice matches the one that shine in his eyes.

“Then _why_ ,” he continues, taking a few long strides to stand in the same spot the stranger had stood before. There, on the edge of Shouyou’s personal space, he catches the exact moment when his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in his throat, “dontcha let me do my job?”

“I-It’s—” he begins. He seems to choke on his own words, his eyes falling momentarily on the shape of the gun drawn against Atsumu’s coat. He clears his throat, the sound fragile and filled with something akin to fear but not quite the same, “it’s not that I don’t want you to do your job—”

“Oh, really?” Atsumu chuckles, dark and poisonous, an edge of danger sliding underneath his voice. “‘Cause it doesn’t look like it.”

“You…”

“See, the thing is,” he keeps on, ignoring Shouyou’s attempt to speak, “that ‘m sorta done with yer attitude.”

“My attitude?” he echoes, softly.

“Ya shoulda lemme kill him,” Atsumu explains, slowly, almost savouring the words in his mouth. His tongue seems to ruffle around the syllables, as if he’s enjoying the mere idea of taking that guy’s life. Truth is he _does_ enjoy the idea. “He had a knife in his hand… what would’ve happened if I wasn’t here?”

“I know exactly what would’ve happened. You weren’t the one looking at his _crotch_ ,” Shouyou whispers. His head presses against the wall while he looks up, trying to stare directly into Atsumu’s eyes. The challenge he always found on his features is nowhere to be seen, and Atsumu feels surprise blossoming in his chest when he realizes the expression on Shouyou’s face is that of vulnerability. “But you—”

“ _I_ am here ta protect ya, but ya don’t seem ta understand that. Ya say ya do, but ya really don’t. If ya really did—”

“ _‘Tsumu_.”

There it is. The old nickname coming back just to make his heart ache with a yearning he can’t bear. It feels like Shouyou’s putting some sort of bait right in front of his face just to snatch it away when he decided to go for it.

His hands press flat against the tiled wall at each side of Shouyou’s head, framing it, invading the other’s personal space until there’s nowhere left to go. Shouyou gulps again, a shaky breath leaving his lips while his eyes scan Atsumu’s expression.

“Don’t,” he sighs, swallowing down the humourless laugh that licks at the back of his throat, “call me that.”

“What?”

“Yer not seven anymore and ‘m not _‘Tsumu_ ,” he hisses, leaning in until his face is mere inches away from Shouyou’s. “Remember? I’m _Atsumu-san_.”

Shouyou huffs out a harsh laugh that feels like a knife going from his throat to his groin.

“You’re _Atsumu-san_ only because you want to.”

Shouyou’s eyes look sad. Atsumu recognizes the emotion— it’s the same one he saw a few months ago, before he followed him to the pool the first time he subtly asked if Osamu could replace Atsumu for one night. The thing that blossomed behind his irises and he couldn’t catch. It’s right in front of him, burning and growing until it feels like the light of a beacon blinding him. Shouyou had looked at him like that for three years but only now could he really decipher the reason as to why he always put on that overly sweet façade. He was merely disguising the pain, the hurt, and the sadness as a feeling of distance.

He’d never wanted things to turn out like this.

“The last time you came into my room,” he mumbles, letting out a humourless laugh. His gaze averts from Atsumu’s, falling onto something he doesn’t care about, “you looked like you’d seen a ghost. I thought maybe you’d realized—” he stops. His hand raises, his knuckles rubbing at his nose while he sniffles. “Forget it. Mind to get off? I wanna go back to my friends.”

“Finish it.”

“What?”

“What ya were sayin’,” Atsumu explains. “Finish it.”

“Doesn’t matter, okay? Just… let’s go. My friends must be worried.”

“Shouyou, _please_.”

There’s a strangled sound that catches in Shouyou’s throat; it feels akin to the sound of a mouse whose tail has been stepped on. His gaze turns towards Atsumu, so slowly he wants to squish his face in between his fingers to make him move faster. Big amber eyes look at him with a pain so deep it almost feels like he can sense it in his own nerves, prickling and crawling towards his heart and the very marrow of his bones.

“What for?” he whispers, smiling softly. It’s a sad smile, one that seems to tell tales about long lost loves and hurt. It looks very much like Atsumu’s own, the one he put on whenever he looks in the mirror. “You’ll probably just hate me more, so what’s the point?”

_Hate him?_

Atsumu takes a few steps backwards, feeling like Shouyou had just slapped him. The metaphorical sting of five fingers digging into his cheek leaves him breathless and weak, hands trembling at each side of his body.

“Hate ya?” he repeats with disbelief. “Ya think I _hate ya_?”

Shouyou shrugs, sliding his hand flat against his shirt to get rid of wrinkles that aren’t there. It’s one of his anxious gestures, Atsumu realizes; he has a lot of those. Fingers tapping constantly against any surface he can find, biting his lips or even humming as if to fill the silence.

He doesn’t show them with anyone else, however. Only with Atsumu.

“You barely look at me,” he explains, averting his gaze. Shouyou separates his back from the wall, rolling back his shoulders to get rid of a tension Atsumu just realized is there. “Things have changed and I get it, ok? It’s normal. It’s because of me that you can’t have a normal life. I understand. Let’s forget this happened and move on, yeah?”

“How could ya…?”

“Think that you hate me?” he bursts in, blinking at him slowly. “You barely look at me and when you do, you have this… this… _disapproval_ written all over your face. You hate the idea of me mixing up with people like my friends, you hate that I go to the club activities everyday. You hate everything that makes me happy, and you’re _this close,_ ” he keeps on, lifting his hand, pressing his thumb and his index finger together to explain his point, “to hate yourself, too. Might as well believe you hate me, right?”

There were a lot of things said, a lot of words that stir inside his brain and turn around an imaginary axis. He’s in the middle of it all, watching the whirlpool unfold. And yet, the only thing he can hold on to in the middle of the chaos that fills his brain, is one small phrase.

“I make ya happy?”

It’s almost ridiculous. Shouyou said a lot of important things about his attitude towards the things he likes— no, he _loves_ , but Atsumu could only register that tiny bit.

Shouyou sighs, rubbing his right hand against his nose once again. It’s only then that Atsumu notices the tears hanging from his eyelashes.

“You used to,” he answers, refusing to look at him. “Or that’s what I’d like to say. The thing is that doesn’t matter if you hate me, you make me happy anyway. Isn’t it stupid?”

Atsumu swallows the lump that had formed in his throat only to discover there’s one even bigger pressing in his chest, trying to crush his heart underneath its weight. He wonders what he could do with the new information, how could he make Shouyou understand that his attitude isn’t based on hatred but rather the opposite. He feels ashamed of having fallen in love with him, of wanting to turn him into a moaning mess. Those are things that aren’t meant for him and the fact that he’d left them hurt Shouyou makes a wave of nausea crash through him.

“I don’t hate ya,” Atsumu says. He opens his mouth to keep going but closes it a few seconds later without having said anything. He can’t just explain he’s in love with Shouyou to justify his attitude for three years, can he? It’s ridiculous to blame the unrequited feelings for everything. “It’s… it’s not like that. I don’t—”

“Drop it, Atsumu-san,” Shouyou interrupts, smiling sadly at him. “You don’t need to lie. It’s okay. Just don’t ask me to be nice to you because I despise the idea of loving someone who doesn’t love me back.”

Shouyou gets out of the bathroom, leaving his words written all over the air above Atsumu’s head. It takes five seconds for them to fully land on his brain, crushing his entire being underneath their weight, hitting him like a sack of bricks aimed straight to his stomach.

Atsumu follows Shouyou out of the bathroom and searches frantically for him in the room that precedes the hallway. A few feet away, drawn against the colour changing lights, he catches a glimpse of his frame walking away with hands in his pockets.

He runs, even if it only takes him a few seconds and a few long strides to catch up to him. Shouyou looks at him over his shoulders, blinking in surprise before Atsumu’s hand surrounds his left wrist, pulling at it to push him against the wall of the corridor.

“What—”

“Finish it.”

“Not this again… Atsumu-san, _drop it._ That’s an order.”

“Fuck off,” he spits, lifting his hands to frame Shouyou’s face in between them. The warmth underneath his palms and the tip of his fingers feels overwhelming, burning through his skin and seeping into his nerves. “ _Finish it_. What ya were sayin’ before.”

“What do you wanna hear?” Shouyou sighs, defeated. “There’s nothing left to be said.”

“Ya said I looked like I’d seen a ghost.”

“Because that’s how you looked like?” Shouyou snorts. “You also looked disgusted, so I guess our relationship going to shit after that kinda makes sense, huh?”

That, right there, is the Shouyou he had grown used to. Challenging, sarcastic. The smile he directs up at him makes him feel sticky and uncomfortable, the saccharin-like flavour making the back of his throat contract with disgust. Atsumu _hates_ that smile.

“There. I finished it. Now let me go.”

“No, ya didn’t,” the whisper that comes out of Atsumu’s mouth seems to startle Shouyou as much as a scream would have. Among the music that bounces through the walls of the karaoke place, the laughter, and the clinking of glasses, his voice sounds crystal clear. It feels like they are the last two persons left there, as like the entire world is vanishing along with all the noise. “Ya were sayin’ somethin’ else.”

“Why do you care so much all of the sudden?” he breathes out, voice strained and shaky. Beneath his palm, Atsumu can feel the muscle of Shouyou’s jaw popping underneath the tension he produces when he grits his teeth. “You never cared before, why now?”

Atsumu weighs his options. He could answer and tell him that the situation in the bathroom had scared the shit out of him. That for a moment there he thought he’d have to show Shouyou the ugliest side of him, that one that only surfaced when he needed to protect the family. And because of that, he’d said things he didn’t really mean and behaved in a way that felt shameful even to him. That the thought of seeing him getting hurt or even worse, _losing him_ , had fucked up his thought process. They aren’t lies at all, but they aren’t the truth either. They’re mere excuses to avoid the elephant in the room.

“I’ve always cared,” he murmurs. Shouyou’s heart is hammering away in his chest, the pumping of his blood resonating in the vein of his neck, pressed against the edge of Atsumu’s hand. His breath, coming out on small puffs of air, brushes over Atsumu’s lips. “That’s why I’m askin’ now. Ya thought I’d realized… what?”

Shouyou’s fingers are scalding hot against the skin of the interior of his wrists. His fingertips graze over the interwoven of blue veins spreading on the inside of his arm, stopping right under his thumbs, squeezing ever so slightly while a soft smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“I told you already, didn’t I?” he sighs. The kindness on his voice is genuine, warmth and safety spreading through Atsumu’s veins the same way it did years ago. It feels like he’s finally been able to turn back time, as if he was standing right in front of Shouyou before realizing how he felt. His smile reaches his eyes, so different to the overly sweet one that looked more like a grimace than a sincere gesture. “Don’t make me repeat myself. It’s embarrassing. Just let it go, Atsumu-san.”

“Ya said ya loved me,” he exhales, his fingers tensing around Shouyou’s face.

“Atsumu-san…”

“How long?”

Shouyou’s eyes shine with confusion. Red flickers over his face, barely covered up by Atsumu’s frame, the colour lights turning on themselves, and magenta follows suit. Underneath the changing illumination, Shouyou looks like something straight out of a fantasy story.

“Seriously?” he puffs out. “Now? You wanna do this _now_?”

“Yes.”

It only takes one beat for Atsumu to answer. The forcefulness on his voice disarms Shouyou, whose mouth falls slightly open while he seems to look for the connection between his brain and his lips. He says nothing, however, and grits his teeth before releasing a frustrated breath that whistles through them.

“All my life, I think,” he finally confesses. Shouyou looks and sounds tired and for a moment Atsumu thinks it’d be better to back off, to give him some space so he can put everything in order before trying to explain. He would’ve done it hadn’t it been for Shouyou’s fingers strengthening their grasp around his wrists. “I realized what it was when I was thirteen.”

“Why didn’t ya tell me?”

“Because you’d think it was just a silly crush,” he explains, matter-of-factly. “I was thirteen, of course it was a silly crush. And telling you would only cause our relationship to be uncomfortable on both ends and I didn’t want to lose y—”

Atsumu presses his thumbs under Shouyou’s chin, and tilts his head back. He leans in until he can feel Shouyou’s lips against his, hot, slightly soft, and bitten at. His mouth tastes like orange juice and the slight aftertaste of soya sauce, sweet and salty swirling over his tongue and reaching out to the back of his throat. The savour turns into electricity snapping down his neck and through his spine, jumping from nerve end to nerve end so fast he cannot seem to find the oxygen that surrounds him but refuses to enter his system to get a hang of it.

The surprised moan Shouyou lets out is muffled into Atsumu’s mouth. He swallows it with a greed that pushes a low growl pass Shouyou’s lips, and the vibration makes him shudder under the slight touch of his young master’s fingers. They’re barely there, pressed so lightly against his skin but it feels like his hands are all over Atsumu’s body, the tips of his fingers tracing the edge of his muscles, dipping into the hollows of the bones of his pelvis. 

Atsumu presses his body into Shouyou’s, pins him against the wall and his knee bullies its way in between the other’s thighs. The kiss breaks long enough for him to moan a little bit louder, his fingers tensing around Atsumu’s wrist until he can feel the pulse hammering in the tip of his thumbs. His mouth dives in for another kiss and the taste makes him moan, makes him ignore Shouyou’s fingers on the move, pulling at the lapels of his coat until Atsumu’s hips are aligned with his.

It’s like his thoughts have crumbled into nothing, vanishing from his brain until the only thing that’s left is the raw desire for _more_. Shouyou’s mouth melts against his, moves in sync, and leans in a little bit more into his own. His lips press harshly against over Atsumu’s, eagerness consuming the taller one to the very marrow of his bones, and he’s so far gone into the heavy, scalding hot touch that he doesn’t realize Shouyou is kissing him back until he _mewls_ his name and Atsumu has a first-hand taste of the syllables on his tongue.

It’s not his name, though. At least not all of it.

 _‘Tsumu_.

Atsumu breaks the kiss, holds Shouyou’s face still when he tries to lean in to join their mouths together once again. He’s breathing harshly, little puffs of hair brushing against Atsumu’s dampen and swollen lips. His eyes flutter open like butterflies and the yellow light coming from somewhere close to one of the doors that lead to another karaoke room flickers over his irises, the pupils widened and glossy with a hunger that takes Atsumu’s breath away.

Atsumu can feel Shouyou’s fingers trembling, his knuckles pressing onto his chest through the hem of the coat. They’re both breathing raggedly and harshly, and Atsumu feels Shouyou’s pulse through every part of their bodies that’s pressed together; the hammering of his heart feels akin to that of a rabbit, but there’s no fear in his features nor in the way he gulps when Atsumu’s eyes, fixed on his, make him writhe against the wall.

“You—” he breathes out. His voice sounds strained and thick with something Atsumu recognizes as lust, and the way he keeps as still as possible gives away the raw necessity of pushing against the thigh that’s pressing in between his legs to hold him in place. Try as he might, he cannot deny how much he wants to do the same, too. “You can’t just— you can’t just _kiss me_ like that.”

Atsumu blinks slowly, fighting the fog the hangs over his brain like spider-webs perched in the corners of his mind. He tries to think, tries to _exist_ , but the gears inside of his skull feel rusted and covered with dust. He’s left powerless against Shouyou, and if the boy he now presses in between his body and the wall decided it he’d gladly walk to the guillotine. He’s nothing but soft clay underneath his young master’s fingertips and— _oh_.

“Fuck,” he hisses, taking a few steps back. The distance between them grows and Shouyou slides down the wall until he’s standing on his own feet. His hand presses against the flat surface while he pants for air, his eyes never averting from Atsumu’s frame. Atsumu’s hands feel empty and cold; the sensation of _lacking_ something is overwhelming and he has to try his best to link his thoughts together. “Shouyou-sama, I—”

“ _Now_ you call me that?” he laughs. The sound comes out thick and it sends a shiver down Atsumu’s back.

“I didn’t mean to—” Atsumu starts, biting down on his tongue to stop the lie from coming out. Of course he meant to do that. He’s been meaning to do it _for years_ and the fact that he was weak long enough to actually give in to his desires makes him feel ashamed. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No. Fuck that noise,” Shouyou spits, startling Atsumu. His eyes roam over his master’s frame until they find his gaze fixed on him, the frown deepening in between his eyebrows. He looks angry now, a fierce glint to his eyes that makes Atsumu’s mouth go dry with lust. Tonight’s the first night he’s heard him swear like that, the first time he’s seen the aura of power and superiority, and he can’t deny the jerk that pulls at every single one of his nerve ends. The image send blood to pool at his groin. “How long?”

Atsumu swallows the lump in his throat and curses his luck. He’d forgotten Shouyou would ask the same question he asked a few minutes ago after something like _that._ To be completely honest with himself, he’d forgotten _everything_. It’s not like his ability to think had been at its best capacity with Shouyou’s lips moving against his, with Shouyou kissing him _back_. He did not expect that.

“Since ya were fourteen.”

The words taste sour on his tongue. He’d been twenty one. Shouyou was just a kid and he—

Atsumu pushes those thoughts to the darkest corner of his mind. He can dwell on the disgust he feels later. He needs to fix this _now_ because his relationship with Shouyou is hanging by a thread and the possibilities of it all are making his head spin. It’s been mutual for years and he doesn’t know what to do with this information, doesn’t know what to do with _himself._

“It’s been… requited _this_ long?” Shouyou whispers, his voice small and fragile amidst the music blasting in the background of the moment.

“That’s what ya care ‘bout?” Atsumu hisses through his gritted teeth. “Dontcha remember that ‘m an _adult_?”

Shouyou giggles. He’s got the nerve to _fucking giggle_.

“What’s so funny?”

“’Tsumu,” he begins, shaking his head in disbelief, “do you realize who I am?”

Atsumu’s ears perk up, his back tensing under the weight of Shouyou’s words. What kind of question is that?

“’Course I know who ya are. Dja think I’d be here, ready ta give my life for ya if I didn’t know?”

“Do you know who _you_ are?”

“Get ta the point. Yer killin’ me here.”

“I’m gonna be the Boss when my father dies. I’m the first born of a Yakuza family. Do you really think the fact that you’re seven years older than me _matters_? We’ve all done worse things than this. I’ve lived my entire life off of murders, drug dealing, prostitution, and god knows what else. Those things paid my education, the food I’ve been eating since I was born, my clothes… _everything_ I own. And you kissing me is suddenly the worst thing that can happen?”

Shouyou’s words hang over their heads and wait for an interminable moment before diving into the metaphorical void that is Atsumu’s understanding. His ragged breathing fills the space between them, counting the seconds like a clock, and Atsumu realizes his own intake of oxygen has coordinated with Shouyou’s.

“This is fucked,” he finally says.

Shouyou laughs.

“And the fact that you’re ready to give up on your life because of me isn’t?”

Their entire situation is fucked. There’s no way out for both of them and Atsumu thinks Shouyou’s the most fucked of both of them. Atsumu could flee, gather some of his savings and leave the country. Change his name, dye his hair back to his natural colour, and even wear contact lenses. It’d be easy for him to disappear, to vanish from the face of Earth so the family never finds him. His brother wouldn’t look for him because he’d probably leave with him. They’d be safe as long as they didn’t go around telling the cops about the Hinata’s business.

But Shouyou? Shouyou is tied by blood. He could never leave because his sister is definitely not the best choice to run the family. If Shouyou’s soft, Natsu is a thousand times softer than him and she would never be able to keep the business afloat. They’d die out in a few years and not only the entire staff would go to jail, their mother would too. Natsu would be left an orphan with nowhere to go and a grim future ahead of her.

Atsumu knows Shouyou doesn’t want to sit on the Boss’ chair. He wants a normal life and everything that comes with it. He wants to pursue a professional volleyball player career and live off of that. He wants to go to Brazil to train and come back to Japan with all the knowledge he’s acquired as the foundations of his future.

But he’s tied by blood and family. He would never leave his sister alone and would never allow the guards, the maids, and the entire staff to go to jail. He loves them all and that’s _exactly_ what ties him to the line he’s supposed to follow. His destiny was decided long before he was born and he has no choice but to bend his back beneath its weight and accept the duties that come with the blood that runs through his veins.

He’ll never have a normal life. The heritage that joined his blood the moment he was born is a curse.

Their entire lives are just a shitty parade they’re obligated to be a part of. There’s nothing normal about them and Atsumu should be over that already, but he cannot fathom letting something that is not _pure_ touch Shouyou. Isn’t that one of the reasons he’d been holding back this whole time? Shouyou’s innocence?

“There’s no morality that can be applied to us,” Shouyou sighs, and his voice is filled with fatigue. Atsumu looks at him and he can’t stop himself from remembering the small kid that used to fall asleep on his History books, his head pressed against the crook of Atsumu’s neck. “You really think you’re the only one having problems with it?”

“Yah, sure. Ya have problems with this.”

“Of course. Aren’t you a trained assassin? What does the fact that I’m in love with you make _me_?”

It’s something that goes both ways, Atsumu realizes. Shouyou’s right; there’s no morality whatsoever that can be applied to the situation they’re both trapped in, it doesn’t matter how much he wants to try. Their lives are the furthest thing to “normal” there is, and he can’t force himself or Shouyou to move under what other would consider ordinary. Isn’t he his owner, after all? If Shouyou decides he dies tonight, he’s bound to die tonight and he must do so with a smile on his face and his best suit.

Atsumu puffs out a sigh of tiredness. It’s not easy to realize that the tension he and his master had shared over the course of these last three years finds its foundations in the romantic feelings they share. It’s complicated to picture his young master as something different than the unreachable star he’s always been and it’s even harder to imagine him writhing and moaning underneath the tip of his fingers and in the middle of the circle of Atsumu’s arms. He doesn’t really understand why it’s so complicated now when his nights used to be filled with glimpses of images of the sort unfolding in front of his eyes whenever he tried to sleep.

“I’ll go back to my friends,” Shouyou begins. His voice sounds steadier now but there’s still a trembling edge that slides beneath the syllables that fall from his mouth. “It’s time to go home.”

“Shouyou-sama—”

“Stop calling me that,” Shouyou stops him. There where Atsumu expected the hardness of hatred and boredom behind his words, what he finds instead is a giggle, something akin to a burst of laughter bubbling up his young master’s chest. “At least for now, okay? We’ve got a lot to talk about if we want to get to terms with whatever— whatever is happening between us.”

“ _Whatever_ is happening between us?” Atsumu echoes, savouring the words on his tongue. There’s a weight to them he can’t quite put his finger on, but the idea appeals to him in a way that irks him for some reason. “Shouyou-sama, there’s nothing between us.”

“Oh,” Shouyou looks at him, tilting his head to the side. Not for the first time, his appearance makes Atsumu think of a crow ready to gouge his eyes out. “Weird. I remember having your _tongue_ in the back of _my throat_. Must’ve been dreaming.”

“You’re the Boss, we can’t—”

“’Tsumu,” Shouyou hisses, stopping him dead in his tracks. Atsumu had engraved the idea that he couldn’t speak when a member of the Hinata family was speaking a long time ago, and the fact that he has to swallow down the attempt of refusal makes him grimace. “Do us both a favour and wait until we’re in the car, at least.”

Atsumu bites back the retort and tries his best to go back to his initial position in life; that one where he was to follow Hinata Shouyou’s every order that doesn’t imply letting him get into troubles or danger. The aftertaste of Shouyou's mouth still lingers on his tongue, still burns in his lips, and Atsumu really doesn’t know how to go back to ten minutes ago before his brain decided to shut off in front of the discovery that his feelings were requited for longer than they’d existed. It’s complicated, he realizes, to even think of a life where he hasn’t tried Shouyou’s mouth. Could such life even be real?

Still, he doesn’t feel worthy of having someone like Shouyou reciprocating his feelings. He’s supposed to be something akin to a god, unreachable and pure. Hadn’t Atsumu just stained his purity a few minutes ago? That isn’t Atsumu’s place— it would never be.

He grits his teeth while following Shouyou back to the room he’d been with his friends. The boys sitting at the table look at them when his master opens the door and greets them with a smile that goes from ear to ear. Wonder and delight shine in their eyes whilst they ask why’d he take so long in the bathroom as if Shouyou’s mere presence fixed all the problems in the world.

Atsumu understands. He feels the same.

Shouyou lies easily; he had to wait a few minutes to get into the bathroom and a few more for a stall. The words fall easily from his mouth, curling in the air above their heads, reaching out to his friends and convincing them with such ease Atsumu wonders if they’d gladly comply if Shouyou asked them to die for him. He knows he wouldn’t mind but that doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that Shouyou seems to have some sort of gift to convince people about the most ridiculous things. What about them, though? Would Hinata Shouyou be able to convince his friends to give up on their lives just because he asked for it?

The way they grin at him and nod, swallowing his lies like it’s a candy, tells Atsumu they’d die if he asked for it. Such power is a dangerous thing and by the way Shouyou’s smile disappears as soon as his friends can’t see his face, Atsumu is sure he knows it too.

They leave the place after Shouyou pays for his and his friends’ consumption with a “charge it to Hinata Shouyou’s account” that makes the owner’s eyes shine with a greed that feels sticky and unpleasant. Atsumu wrinkles his nose in disgust, eyeing the small man with his lips pressed into a thin, pale line that tries to conceit his sour humour.

“Oh, by the way,” Shouyou blurts out, turning to face the owner of the karaoke. “It would be nice if you could take a better look to your patrons. There was a suspicious man in the bathroom… he had a knife.”

“Ah, that’s not possible. This establishment is very safe for kids your a—”

“I sure hope so. Blood isn’t easy to clean even off of tiled floors and walls.”

The colour drains from the owner’s face and Atsumu can’t help but chuckle. Shouyou’s face looks as innocent as ever, relaxed and even welcoming, but the glint of his eyes sends shivers down his spine. Those are the eyes of a snake, he realizes, naked fangs ready to sink into flesh and poison everything they can reach.

Atsumu sometimes forgets who Shouyou is. It’s easy with the way he’s always laughing and joking with his sister, with how he lets his friends touch him and piggyback ride him whenever they please. It’s easy to forget about it when he has to go to his volleyball tournaments and he receives trophy after trophy for his superior athletic abilities. It’s easy to forget who he really is beneath the smiles, the laughter, the kindness. But is in moments like these, when his eyes shine with blood thirst, that Atsumu is viciously reminded of what lies underneath the light of Shouyou’s daily smile.

“B-Blood?”

“Yes. He had a knife, he could’ve hurt someone with it. Please take care of that.”

He smiles and the snake is gone, but the eyes of the owner give away the fear that spikes inside of him. It’s like looking at a heart rate detector picking up the pace with every second passing, the _beep_ of the beating drumming dangerously close to the arrhythmia. Atsumu feels a rush of adrenaline injecting straight to his heart; this is a side of Shouyou he’s never seen. _This_ is the side of him he’s destined to see and protect.

The bell over the door chimes softly when Shouyou pulls it open, darting out of the karaoke with a tense smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. It’s hard to understand; this boy he thought he knew like the back of his hand is a mystery because he never really showed himself to him. Not after Atsumu put that distance between them, one that held him from even seeing the smaller details Shouyou displays to the rest of the world. Has he always been like this? He’s a mixture of a snake and a crow and Atsumu doesn’t really know which he likes better.

Shouyou waits with his back pressed against the cabin of the car. His arms are crossed over his chest and his foot taps impatiently against the frosted pavement; there’re white clouds of condensation swirling in the air there where he puffs, the steam like spider webs disappearing into the atmosphere over his head.

His cheeks are flushed because of the cold and the way he hugs his jacket makes Atsumu think of the warmth that seeped through his skin when he pinned him against the wall, the taste of the moans that coated his tongue, Shouyou’s thighs clamping down on his—

“Shouyou-sama,” he calls, stopping that train of thought as soon as it starts to shape in his mind. “Please get into the car so we can leave.”

“What do you wanna do?”

“Go home. It’s late and you have practice on Saturdays. You need to sleep.”

“Very funny, ‘Tsumu,” he says, but he’s not laughing. Atsumu knows what he wants to talk about but he doesn’t feel ready for it. It’s hard to picture Shouyou feeling _that way_ towards him. “I’m laughing my ass off.”

“Shouyou-sama, _please_.”

“Don’t you love me?” Shouyou whispers.

The question seems to slap him across the face, the strength of the hit causing a major whiplash that almost sends him to the next _dimension_. The words seem strange in his ears, his brain unable to give them a shape it can recognize and even less understand. There’s no reality he can picture where he doesn’t love Shouyou with all his heart.

“Of course I do.”

“Then?”

“Don’t you think it’s risky? You’re the first born of the Hinata family, the next Boss. You said so yourself—”

“I’m still human, though,” Shouyou stops him. He’s small, he’s always been smaller than his peers, but his personality never allowed Atsumu to feel like he was at disadvantage. Now, however, he looks even smaller than he really is, insignificant in the middle of a wintery night. “I still want things, I still _lust_ for people. Aren’t you human too?”

Atsumu chews on his lower lip while his eyes roam over Shouyou’s frame. The fact that he looks so small and fragile doesn’t sit right on Atsumu’s brain and the idea that he’s falling apart makes him recoil with fear. Shouyou doesn’t fall apart, he doesn’t _crumble_. He’s stronger than that, so strong Atsumu sometimes feels useless because he doesn’t seem to need any sort of protection.

But when he smiles up at him as if he’d been carrying the entire weight of the world on his shoulders, Atsumu realizes this isn’t something that _just_ started happening. This is something Shouyou has dealt with since he was thirteen, and it’s obvious the entire ordeal is finally wearing him down.

“I am.”

“I understand if you don’t want us to be in a… relationship, though. Whatever the reason. I can ask my father to switch the bodyguards— Nacchan will have a hard time adjusting to you because you’re stricter than ‘Samu, but she’ll be fine. As for me… well, it’d be a relief to not have to deal with me, eh? I guess—”

“I never said I didn’t want to.”

Shouyou’s words die on his tongue, his shoulders sagging while his head snaps towards Atsumu. Big amber eyes stare at him with so much hope Atsumu can feel his chest constricting, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of Shouyou wanting this as much as he does.

“Then why…?”

“It’s complicated,” he tries to explain. “I’ve been shaped my whole life to see you as something that I could never touch and then one day… one day, I have the freedom not only to touch you, but to do so much more. It’s overwhelming.”

Atsumu takes a few hesitant steps forward, traces his path towards Shouyou in his mind as if he’s drawing with a red marker over a map. It’s complicated to draw a straight line because there’d been so many ups and downs and turns and he’s not quite sure this that unfolds in front of his eyes is real, but he can feel it if he reaches out and tries to grasp it in his hand. It’s real, and the way Shouyou looks at him makes his entire body _ache_ with a need that’s no stranger to him.

He meets Atsumu halfway and purrs in appreciation when Atsumu’s hand presses against his cheek. His thumb follows the curve of the high of his cheekbone, brushing over the freckles as if he could draw over the stars and erase them from the sky that is his skin. Shouyou’s eyes flutter closed, long eyelashes curving so close to his fingers he can almost feel the cold coming from them, and the ache in his body rises like a tidal wave. He wonders, even for a minute, if he’ll ever be able to make it go away.

He wants nothing but to hug him, squeeze him against his chest and never let him go. He’s been in love with this boy for three years but it feels like it’s been his whole life. It’s complicated to think about himself without being in love with Shouyou, but he discovers it doesn’t really matter. Not when Shouyou’s hand covers his and his thumb draws circles beneath his pinkie.

“Everything is overwhelming when it’s about you.”

Shouyou’s voice is soft. Softer than he’s ever heard it.

“Ya tell me.”

There’s so much they need to talk about. So many unsolved problems they need to go through and sort out before they can even begin to build a relationship. So many chances of getting caught and Atsumu getting basically wiped out of existence if they don’t play the game carefully. He discovers he’s willing to deal with the consequences of everything.

After all, the Boss would not live forever.

“Let’s go home, ‘Tsumu.”

“Yah, let’s go.”

It’s nice to be ‘Tsumu once again.

**Author's Note:**

> That’s all, folks! I’ll see you guys tomorrow with my second contribution for this year’s week. I hope you enjoyed my first contribution and if you did, leave a kudo! They make me extremely happy!
> 
> Also, come scream at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Xhiiluh)! We can scream together because the content is amazing!


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